by Lope Felix de Vega Carpio (1562 - 1635)
Translation © by Lena Platt, Daniel Platt

Pues andáis en las palmas
Language: Spanish (Español) 
Our translations:  ENG
 Pues andáis en las palmas,
 ángeles santos,
 que se duerme mi niño,
 tened los ramos.

 Palmas de Belén
 que mueven airados
 los furiosos vientos
 que suenan tanto:
 no le hagáis ruido,
 corred más paso,
 que se duerme mi niño,
 tened los ramos.

 El niño divino,
 que está cansado
 de llorar en la tierra
 por su descanso,
 sosegar quiere un poco
 del tierno llanto.
 Que se duerme mi niño,
 tened los ramos.

 Rigurosos yelos
 le están cercando;
 ya veis que no tengo
 con qué guardarlo.
 Ángeles divinos
 que váis volando,
 que se duerme mi niño,
 tened los ramos.

About the headline (FAQ)

Confirmed with Lope Felix de Vega Carpio, Pastores de Belén. Prosas y Versos Divinos, Lérida: no publisher, 1617, page 234. Appears in Libro Tercero. In some other publications, the poem has the title "Cantarcillo de la Virgen"


Text Authorship:

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Lena Platt) (Daniel Platt) , "Little Canticle of the Virgin", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Melanie Trumbull

This text was added to the website: 2003-11-08
Line count: 28
Word count: 98

Little Canticle of the Virgin
Language: English  after the Spanish (Español) 
 As you rummage through the palms,
 holy angels,
 that my child might sleep,
 still the branches.

 Palms of Bethlehem
 that the furious winds,
 which sound so much,
 move angrily:
 do not make noise,
 run more slowly,
 that my child might sleep,
 still the branches.

 The divine child,
 that is weary
 of the sorrows of the earth,
 for his rest,
 he wishes a little
 respite from his tender weeping.
 That my child might sleep,
 still the branches.

 Harsh cold
 surrounds him;
 and you see I have nothing
 to protect him.
 Angels divine
 that go on flying,
 that my child might sleep,
 still the branches.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from Spanish (Español) to English copyright © by Lena Platt and Daniel Platt, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., please ask the copyright-holder(s) directly.

    Daniel Platt.  Contact: abelard2 (AT) aol (DOT) com


    If the copyright-holder(s) are unreachable for three business days, please write to:


Based on:

 

This text was added to the website:
Line count: 28
Word count: 104